She Wonders
by Raletha
Summary: [Solace timeline] In Sanq, after Quatre and Heero arrive, Relena wonders about many things. (R1, 43 - canon, drama, short fic)


She Wonders 

By Raletha

  


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**Disclaimer**: Gundam Wing does not belong to me. It is copyrighted to Bandai, Sunrise, and the Sotsu agency. I am using the characters for entertainment purposes only. Original content and concepts, however, are my own: © Raletha January 2004 & beyond.

**Pairings**: R+1, 4+3

**Rating**: G

**Content** canon, drama, short fic

**Summary**: In Sanq, after Quatre and Heero arrive, Relena wonders about many things.

**Notes**: Solace timeline perhaps. Inspired by the livejournal community gw500. I've been wanting to explore a potentially more antagonistic dynamic between Relena and Quatre. This may be revised and expanded at some future point, but for now, here's the short version!

**Thanks**: Mephisto Waltz and Lady Bast for their editorial comments. 

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Relena Peacecraft sat at her dressing table feeling not a bit peaceful. Downstairs in the main ballroom a reception had begun, ostensibly to welcome the school's two newest students, Heero Yuy and Quatre Winner. Dorothy had advised a party might help the school relax amid the rumours that had accompanied the arrival of the two young men. 

She'd been taking her time braiding her hair to give herself time to collect her thoughts before heading downstairs. She'd come to realise this time alone in front of her mirror was among the most conducive for reflection, yet she still hadn't discovered the nexus of her anxiety this evening. 

She frowned critically at her own image just as a sharp knock came at her door. It was too loud to be Dorothy--whom she would have expected--and Relena's heart sped at the thought it might be Heero. "Come in," she called. 

A quick glance informed her that the young man who stepped into her room was fair and golden, not dark and intense. Her stomach twisted in disappointment. It had been nearly two days, and Heero still hadn't come to see her alone. 

"The reception has started, Miss Relena, people are asking after you," said Quatre. In her peripheral vision she could see he wore the formal Sanq dress as easily as if he'd been born in it. 

So polite, so refined, so safe and well-socialised--exactly what she should want. Seeing Quatre next to Heero only reinforced the realisation of it. She smiled instead of sighing and continued plaiting her hair into an intricate arrangement. "Thank you, Mr. Winner." 

"Please, call me Quatre." 

"Quatre, then." Relena continued smiling without looking at him. But her hands slipped, and the pattern of her braid unraveled quickly. She gritted her teeth against an inelegant utterance and glared at her reflection. It was the glare that reminded her of Heero. She'd cultivated it precisely for that reason: to remind her of his strength, of him, of the one she should not want. 

Unbidden, she imagined his rough, impolite lips against hers and his clumsy, urgent hands on her body. She could see the passion in his eyes. Why wouldn't he release it? Why couldn't she help him to do so? 

A shaky inhalation, an attempt to banish the heat in her face, and Relena began anew the intricate task of separating her hair into even sections for plaiting. Why was Quatre here? Had he already told her? 

"Allow me help you with that," said Quatre, moving quickly to stand behind her and not giving her a chance to deny his sudden request--though it seemed more an order despite Quatre's urbane manner. 

His hands were cool, and she let hers linger beneath his for a few seconds of silent defiance, and then lowered them to the vanity counter where her gloves lay. Perhaps Dorothy was right: too polite and solicitous was this Quatre Raberba Winner. In fact, it seemed suspicious that one such as he was a solider at all. He was nothing like Heero, or Milliardo, or even Lieutenant Noin. 

But instead of pressing Quatre directly, she asked, "You know how to braid a woman's hair?" and regretted that the question didn't sound at all challenging. If Dorothy had asked the same thing, it would have. 

Quatre simply smiled and continued at his self-appointed task. 

And Relena remained inexplicably unsettled; the gentle fingers in her hair did not help the mood. A stab of irritation caused her brow to crease for a moment. 

"I have sisters," Quatre explained eventually as he deftly wove her hair into a French plait. 

She looked up from tugging on her gloves to finally meet Quatre's regard in the mirror. 

Where Heero's gaze pierced her and left her breathless, and Dorothy's sliced through her like a sabre, she discovered that Quatre's probed gently, but it penetrated even more deeply. His reflected gaze held an unbearable intimacy of understanding. 

Relena quickly tore her eyes away and refocused on her hands. Sisters or not, what could he have any understanding of here, in her life? 

She made a pretense of straightening the seams of white satin along each finger and wished Quatre would either leave or state his purpose. She could do her own hair, and certainly he hadn't come to play with it. Was he here only to chastise her for being late to the party? Had Lieutenant Noin sent him? 

"I wanted to thank you personally," he said at last. 

"Thank me? For what?" 

"For looking for Trowa. It means a great deal to me." 

"You're welcome, of course." 

"I also wanted to let you know that I would have remained in Sanq regardless, Relena," he said, and beneath his genial tone lay steel. 

Her throat went dry. 

His hands had reached the end of her hair, he snapped on an elastic band, and let her hair fall against her back. "You face enough opposition. Don't be so quick to see an adversary where you may have an ally." Quatre glanced up to meet her eyes again. For a moment, he looked unfathomably tired, but that illusion was banished with a blink. 

Once more he was the image of an innocuous, refined boy-child. "And take care in whom you do place your trust," he finished. 

"Did you come here to tell me who my friends should be?" she demanded, anger at last cracking her voice. 

"Not at all," replied Quatre, his tone still blandly pleasant. "That's for you alone to determine. I came merely to advise caution against letting sentiment blind sensibility." 

"And are you my friend, Quatre?" 

He gave her a short bow and turned away. "We'll see." He opened the door and stood backlit by the hall light for a moment. "But don't let me keep you. People are waiting for you downstairs, we can talk more another day." 

**the end**


End file.
